


The language of memory

by 35391291



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, Magic, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8923855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35391291/pseuds/35391291
Summary: There is darkness here, and she feels fragile, almost paper thin. But there is also an answer to be found. Her hands are rough and clever, and she is getting closer to it.
Hannah reads the cards and understands the language of magic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story runs parallel with [All the embroidered stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8473651).

_Oh writer in a readerless country_  
_Heart in a heartless world_  
_[...]_  
_Oh Hannah running on a rampage_  
_Love running rabid and rife_

\- Passion Fodder: [Kill me Hannah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EF4f0KA8B1M).

*

Hannah places her hand over the deck of cards. The drawings aren't very good, anyone would agree. But they are hers. She can't help but smile, as she thinks about all the hours she spent working on them. John pretended to not know she was copying his cards, but he did. Of course he did. And even though he never said a thing, whenever Hannah found scraps of paper and pencils left on top of the small table in her room, she knew he approved. They understood each other. And now that Hannah can work some magic of her own, she feels that she understands him even more. Magic has truly come back to England, and it is for everyone. It is real, and this is what he has always wanted.

 _Blasted cards_ , Dido calls them. She laughs a bit at them, but she also knows how important they are. Why must they always be right, though? Sometimes, they seem to tremble inside her pocket, and then she knows that they have something to tell her. They always point her towards the truth, towards herself. She wants to learn more, but it isn't easy. Sometimes she feels lost in a maze of fog and feathers. There is darkness here, and she feels fragile, almost paper thin. But there is also an answer to be found. Her hands are rough and clever, and she is getting closer to it.

Today the cards feel urgent, almost desperate. As if they want to be read. So she does. When she lays them out, everything becomes silent. She takes a deep breath, and tries to take in their meaning. For a moment, she imagines that they all look the same. A crowd of black emperors, surrounded by ravens. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, because this is meant to be. She remembers. It is odd and overwhelming, but it feels exactly right. This is a fierce, unknown language, and she is sure that she knows what it means now. She has been waiting for it all her life. She feels the magic, wild like the North wind. It lives in the birds and the trees, and in her hands as well. It speaks the language of memory, and she knows that it is meant to last.


End file.
